


extracts from what was, is, and should’ve been.

by trinasong



Category: Company - Sondheim/Furth
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, bobbie is a chaotic lesbian, it’s hard to word feelings for ms bobbie, joanne is tired of her bs but that’s okay she’s cute, looks into their life together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:55:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25332769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trinasong/pseuds/trinasong
Summary: glimpses into the tender, bizarre life that bobbie and joanne share.
Relationships: Bobbie/Joanne
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	extracts from what was, is, and should’ve been.

**Author's Note:**

> i haven’t published any company fics here yet, but let me know what you think!! enjoy!!

‘Love at first sight’ did not exist. That was as far as Joanne went into the matter, and Bobbie would only back her up when the question was laid on the table.

Their first meeting, or perhaps first glimpse of each other, was not so much glamorous and thrilling as it was peculiar. Neither of them remembered it as a groundbreaking event, yet had to hold a place dear for the moment their worlds shuffled into one. 

It wasn’t fantastic, with their two lives colliding into one beautiful, fiery life of passion. In fact, there’d been much more of a build up to that moment, and even then it wasn’t all it was made out to be (however beautiful and deeply personal it was).

—————

_ March 25th, 2010. _

It was her birthday again ( _ again? surely it can’t have been a year), _ and in Bobbie’s very quite humble opinion, it was no reason to celebrate. It was no milestone, therefore there was no calling for a fuss. She was turning twenty seven, but god, did she feel old. 

Logically, she ought to have been overjoyed with the attention, and gifts, and drinks—oh, god, the drinks. The only good part of the entire damn night, it had seemed. And it was only eight. 

Growing up with a mother who only turned to face you when she was  _ pissed _ meant Bobbie had a natural aversion to her birthday. Every birthday until she was eighteen had been miserable, and just as dull as the one before. If she was lucky, and it wasn’t often, she received thirty dollars from her brothers who were too caught up in college to pull her from her misery. To Bobbie, birthdays were days in which someone would wish you a happy birthday, and you’d slowly start to question if it even  _ was  _ your birthday.  _ Fuck _ birthdays.

—

After spending a good forty five minutes with friends from college, and the newer and older friends she’d miraculously made, she caught sight of Larry. It was a short, hot moment of relief to see him (given the fact Jamie was late). Larry was easy, and sweet, and as much as he was a work friend, he was the next best thing to her absent  _ confidant.  _

That flash of delight was soon over, because ‘ _ for fucks sake, he brought his girlfriend’ _ . ‘Girlfriend’ was not the word she would’ve used, given that the woman in question had to have been at least forty. Strong cheekbones, a good european nose (as her mother would’ve so eloquently put it), and Bobbie would’ve easily assumed that any man would’ve been in it for her lips. Larry wasn’t perverted that way.

She was robbed of any time to deduce, as Larry had soon made his way over with a look of sheepish delight on his face. He’d towered over the woman at his arm, and Bobbie had to stifle a laugh at her callous expression. 

—

“Bob! Happy birthday! Oh, it’s great to see you. You look wonderful. That colour is great on you.”

Red. It was red, and it certainly didn’t look great. It had clashed with her fiery hair, but the dress was too damn nice not to wear. The more Larry had wittered on about how well she looked, the more she wondered if the shorter woman was there to cover up the fact he was quite flamboyantly—

“You never met Joanne, did you?”

“I—no. I didn’t. It’s good to meet you.”

Bobbie held out her hand to Joanne, who was silent for a moment before she extended a slender, bejewelled hand and kissed Bobbie’s knuckles.

“Likewise.”

Where Larry had laughed at his partner’s outlandish approach, Bobbie’s cheeks had flared up a deep shade of pink, and she was half convinced she’d marry the woman before the night drew in.

—

There was nothing inappropriate about her greeting, but the last person she’d expected it from was the short, dark haired, seemingly very rich woman accompanying her good friend to her birthday party. 

Bobbie had set her eyes on Joanne’s, but didn’t linger for more than a moment. The low lights perhaps made the woman’s eyes darker than they were, but her vampish looks clouded over her sense of judgement and replaced it with naive awe. 

She didn’t stew over Joanne’s allure for very long, seeing as Larry had thrusted a nauseatingly wrapped gift into her arms, and she’d thanked him with a kiss on the cheek, as Joanne watched. However, there was no jealousy behind the gaze. Her eye hadn’t twitched, nor had her lip curled up in irritation. Her expression instead was unreadable.

—

A good hour passed, and in that time, Bobbie found that Jamie had come down with a terrible fever, and she’d been left to fend for herself the whole night through.

The worst of the evening was when Larry decided he’d get himself into a conversation at another table, abandoning both Bobbie and his girlfriend.

Very few words were spoken, and Bobbie didn’t have a clue where to start with her. Joanne seemed like the type to laugh in someone’s face, should they question her about her profession, or family. So she didn’t. She swirled her bourbon around the glass and let Joanne’s autumn toned eyes stab her right in the side of her neck.

“How old are you turning?”

“Forty.”

There was a silence, and she was ninety percent sure Joanne wasn’t up for such fuckery that evening.

“Twenty seven.”

“You don’t look it.”

Bobbie paused for a moment, wondering whether she ought to have been offended or quite happy.

Another silence fell over the pair, yet Joanne’s imperious gaze didn’t shift. She’d been staring for the past hour, and Bobbie had only stared back. It made her think Joanne had a plethora of things to say, but refused to say them for some unspoken reason.

—

Larry has returned after a painful twenty five minutes, but part of Bobbie had prayed to god he’d leave them for another ten. She wouldn’t lie, and claim she wasn’t interested in Joanne in the slightest. Romantically, no. She was seeing two guys as it was, but told them her birthday wasn’t for another two months. Joanne was attractive, she would admit that. She was curvy, and well dressed (she filled out the dress she was wearing in ways Bobbie could only dream of), with dark eyes and equally dark hair pulled back into a twist that Bobbie didn’t understand. It was up or down for her.

The rest of the night was spent discussing, and drinking, and staring. Joanne and her goddamn staring. Bobbie had recalled her nudging her leg beneath the table, and she momentarily wondered if she’d mistaken her for her handsome younger beau. Evidently not, as Joanne had given her a wry smile before bottom ending her drink. She remembers the sigh she let out at that, because damn that woman for having such sickening charisma.

—

She and Larry had left early upon Joanne’s request, and Bobbie didn’t want to question what Joanne had in mind for them. In fact, Bobbie couldn’t bring herself to question  _ anything  _ when she’d leaned up (even in heels) to press her lips to Bobbie’s cheek. She remembered how dizzying the rich and musky tones of her perfume were, and she remembered watching her get into that cab with Larry and she watched her turn back to give a look that stuck with her for years.

Joanne was an enigma, as much as she was quick witted, and honest, and grounded.

Bobbie hadn’t stopped thinking about her that evening, even as she got progressively drunker. And drunker still. In fact, she was still thinking of her when she couldn’t walk and the room was swirling around her. She found that that was the best story to use when describing Joanne, but she hadn’t dared to tell her that.

————

_ June 14th, 2012 _

It seemed, over the past two years, Bobbie had grown a little too fond of Joanne. She’d warmed to her eventually, yet she still spoke in bitter prose where she could fit it in. It wasn’t a bother, but Bobbie longed to know  _ Joanne _ . She longed to be the one to call her ‘Jo’, instead of Larry. To nudge her when she made a comment she shouldn’t have made in public, or when she was being wonderfully naughty. The damn woman had hooked her in and after nights of drinks, and Saturday nights over coffee, it occurred to Bobbie they were kindred spirits (she liked that more than she would admit.)

She loved Joanne, as she loved the rest of her friends. She wasn’t in deep enough to be  _ in love _ with her, but that was not an inconvenience in her current situation.

That very statement proved to be contradictory yet fitting as she zipped Joanne into her wedding dress. She patted her shoulder, letting out a soft breath and preparing herself for something that didn’t yet make sense to her.

She loved her friends. She loved Jamie, and Larry, and Sarah, and Susan. But she loved Joanne a great deal more, and the thought of watching her marry off left a sting that wouldn’t leave, even as she reassured Joanne that she was beautiful, and it would come as no surprise if Larry passed out.

—

Larry loved Joanne with his whole heart, and he would make that clear to anyone who so much as looked at them. Joanne loved him in her own way. She wouldn’t speak about him, or fawn over him. The news of their engagement was more thrilling to Larry than it was to her. She knew Joanne had been married twice before, so Bobbie took the safe option of assuming the thrill wears off after a while. 

She watched Joanne recite her vows, and there was happiness in her face. She was smiling — not a big smile, but it was there. Her eyes had softened for him the way they had done for Bobbie before, and she almost resented that happiness.

If she was happy, then Bobbie would have to tuck away her precious, confusing feelings. Still, despite her warm feelings for the two of them, it felt like a kick in the gut to see them kiss. She had no good reason to be upset, as she was accompanied to the wedding by a perfectly handsome man she’d probably ignore in two weeks. She didn’t want to settle, and she wouldn’t settle. 

Still, Joanne had stared just the way she had the first night they’d wandered into each other’s company when she delivered her messy speech while holding back tears. Not tears for the newlyweds, but tears for what ought to have been.

—

Joanne was never easy. She was unexpected, and brash; her entire existence was a sharp turn and a bright flash of light, but Bobbie held her so dear through the next — what was it, six years? Six more joyful years of getting beautifully drunk, and six more years of Joanne’s  _ stares _ . 

An evening accompanied by Joanne’s one-liners and drunken monologues was time well spent, and Bobbie couldn’t help but miss her more and more as the days went by. It felt like every moment away from Joanne was being wasted. She didn’t have the balls to tell her this, of course. Partially because Bobbie refused to admit that she was falling quite hard for her older, married friend. Jamie was her best friend, but Joanne was her  _ best _ friend. 

Maybe she was so used to being with Larry and Joanne that she was too afraid to be alone with the woman, or maybe she was frightened of herself. Knowing Bobbie, she’d attempt some lousy sapphic stunt and make half thought out advances on a married woman.

—

Bobbie did not shy away from the fact she much preferred women. It didn't intimidate her as much as it would’ve fifteen years ago, because it didn’t add nor take away from her. Sure, it was a pain in the ass and she—

Why did she? If she was so damn comfortable with herself, why did she toy around with men she didn’t care much for at all. If she was so comfortable, she would’ve dropped men the very night she met Joanne. Why did she sleep with men? Because loving a woman meant loving Joanne, and she wouldn’t set herself up for heartbreak over feelings she refused to confirm.

But god almighty, did she confirm them.

—————

_ December 7th, 2018. _

“Larry and I are splitting.”

Bobbie swallowed her mouthful of drink, knowing better than to react despite her heart suddenly rising to her throat.

“Splitting what?”

Then there was the stare again, with her big brown eyes that were warmer than she let on. There was a time and place for fawning over minute details like someone’s eyes, and it was not when your dear friend and confirmed (assumed)  _ soulmate  _ told  _ her _ confirmed bachelorette bosom buddy that she was leaving her husband. 

“Drop it, Bobbie. I’m leaving him.”

“Why?”

“He got his secretary knocked up and is in serious, serious debt.”

“Holy shit—how? I mean—“

“God, give me strength. I’m leaving him because I don’t love him.”

That was what Bobbie chose to latch onto, instead of how gullible she’d momentarily been. Joanne and Larry loved each other, even if it wasn’t in the most conventional way. They had a certain way of expressing that love, and it was believable. Hell, she’d watched Larry snake his hand up her skirt on more than one occasion. Come to think of it, she stopped him half way and murmured something in his ear (Bobbie could only imagine it was something dirty, and for a minute, she put herself in Larry’s place).

“How long? Haven’t you loved him, I mean.”

“I never did. Not properly, anyway. He’s so naive, poor bastard. I broke his heart the way I broke the two before him.”

“You’re charming tonight.”

“Where’s the big reaction, huh? You’ve never been so quiet in your life, kid.”

—

It seemed that their encounter dozens of hours after meeting was the most striking, as Joanne eventually piped up and took a jab at the elephant in the room. 

“When did you plan on telling me, Bobbie?”

“Yes, the rumours are true, I’m in a relationship with Jamie.”

Joanne knocked back her drink and gave Bobbie a stare that put the fear of god into her. Once again, it seemed Joanne wasn’t prepared for fuckery.

“If you wanted me, you should’ve told me.”

“If—what?”

“Don’t pull this bullshit with me, Bobbie. I’m laying out cards here. Either you hook yourself up with another guy and buy a test in advance, or you take me out to the back alley and make a big mess of my lipstick. I’ll let you leave with my underwear.”

—

That was not a situation Bobbie wanted to be in. Ever. She wanted to die with the knowledge she’d yearned for Joanne for eight years, and that way she’d die without a fuss. Joanne’s tone was flat, and Bobbie would’ve liked to have believed she was joking.

She was not joking. Maybe about the underwear, but Joanne was one big, rich uncertainty.

“You’re not—“

“I am. Are you?”

“Why?”

“Because if you’re going to so selflessly take me up on that offer, I want to know you aren’t using me as a lab rat.”

—

Why was it Joanne said the very best things at the very worst times? She came out with marvellous things when Bobbie needed a Xanax and her bed. She would never fully understand Joanne, or why she stared, or why she was always half serious, or why she spoke like she was stating facts every second of the damn day.

Nothing needed to be said when Joanne stood, because Bobbie understood it was a command. She never thought she’d see the day in which the opportunity to kiss Joanne breathless would arise, and when it did, she didn’t know how to handle it.

Joanne, although standing at only five foot two, had a certain domineering air about her. Bobbie watched as she made for the door, and in her moment of pensive thought, almost forgot to follow her.

—

She hadn’t had time to complain about the December air against her bare arms, as Joanne had slammed the door to the alley shut and pulled Bobbie against her. Her lips were on hers before she could even start to be excited, and Joanne let out a cathartic moan against her lips. 

How long had she waited for the moment she could kiss Joanne like this? She couldn’t tell. It had always been there, but she was too busy with anyone  _ but _ Joanne to pay attention. And just how many thoughts did she have in that moment?  _ Approximately none. _

To hell with the nights of elaborate fantasies concerning her draping herself over Joanne in utter emotional turmoil and pulling her down into a kiss like it would be the last thing she’d ever do. Making out like they were twenty around the back of a bar was just as romantic.

—

With Joanne’s lipstick safely smeared, she pulled back to catch a breath and make sense of whatever it was they were doing.

“Jo—“

“Kiss me.”

“ _ Jo.” _

“Don’t make this difficult. You’re not going the right way about leaving with my underwear.”

“I want you.”

“Take me.”

_ “Not like that.” _

“Then how?”

“You know how.”

The following silence told Bobbie that Joanne absolutely  _ did _ know how, and she was simply setting up an elaborate torture plan that would eventually kill her off.

—

Joanne straightened herself up and lit a cigarette, kicking at gravel for something to do. She hadn’t given a clear answer, despite knowing exactly what Bobbie was set on. 

They’d known each other for eight years — almost a quarter of Bobbie’s  _ life,  _ and Joanne wouldn’t be gracious enough to give her a clear answer. When had Joanne ever given anyone a clear answer?

They stood in silence, with cars passing, and people yelling, and not a  _ single fucking word from— _

“C’mere.”

_ Come where? One step further into delusion? _

Bobbie shifted, hoping she still held some mojo as she wrapped her arm around Joanne and pressed her forehead to the shorter woman’s. What the fuck was she doing?

Joanne leaned up, her lips brushing Bobbie’s. She was hesitant, but Jo being Jo, disguised it with her allure that was known to kill a man.

“I’d give you the underwear if I was wearing any. I want you to call me, you hear? Call. Me.”

And that was the end of  _ that _ night.

————

Bobbie called her. She called her when she was so drunk she wasn’t even sure if the woman she was speaking to was the same woman she was head over heels for. And she’d told her nothing useful, but somehow won Joanne over with her charm.

It was a slow process, getting her to admit that. Joanne had learned a certain tenderness through days spent together. There weren’t the right words, considering the right words had to be saved for when they found themselves in a particularly beautiful moment. Even then, the words would be hard to find.

The divorce had gone through quickly, and with guilt sitting heavy on her shoulders, Bobbie had helped the poor man move out. She’d been in his  _ marital bed  _ the night before and screamed for her life. Joanne had that sweet sort of effect on people.

Still, through months of not doing much other than kissing, and touching, and doing anything  _ but _ talking, they were closer than ever before.

—

Bobbie cherished moments with Joanne so dearly, whether it was waking before her to watch the rise and fall of her chest or watching her smoke another cigarette while she waited for Bobbie to finish her drink. 

What they had was intimate, and Joanne decided that such intimacy didn’t need words. To put it bluntly, Joanne would rather have died than discuss her feelings. She could spew as much eloquence as her heart desired, but Bobbie understood she was  _ not _ verbally sentimental. 

Much to Bobbie’s dismay, considering she had mentally prepared thirty pages of conversation regarding her feelings for her good friend. 

—

_ August 1st, 2019. _

“I’m in love with you.”

Silence. This time Joanne didn’t stare. Probably because if she closed her eyes, she could ignore it. Play dead. 

“Jesus, slow down, I can’t hear a word you’re saying,” Bobbie added flatly after a moment of painful silence.

Joanne didn’t open her eyes. She blindly reached for her pack of cigarettes and her lighter instead.

—

They’d spent the night together, and it was more amorous than their usual drinks and takeout on the couch. Joanne had taken her to dinner like a real gentleman, and showered her in awkward compliments the whole night through. They’d shared wine, and Bobbie had kissed her neck and finally understood what it was like to be blessed by Joanne’s company.

Eventually, they’d taken it to ‘their’ bedroom, and Joanne was on form. More so than usual. Bobbie’s neck and chest were littered with lovebites she’d have to hide from Larry at work. The man seemed to know everything, and it was only a matter of time before he realised. 

Joanne, not being particularly verbal, seemed to present her affection through kisses and flowers delivered to her door (never with a note). Not once had she confirmed the state of their relationship.

—

“Joanne?”

Her eyes remained closed, and Bobbie prodded her in the ribs. They were still undressed, only covered by the sheets, and Joanne had them pulled down to her waist (meaning Bobbie had to keep herself from staring at her generous chest).

She huffed.

“Joanne, you aren’t playing fair. You can’t keep me like this for months on end. I mean, don’t get me wrong for a second, this is great and I love whatever this is, but it’s killing me not talking about this. I mean—what are we? You know? I get it was a little raw when you left Larry, but it’s been—what, almost eight months. And I still don’t really know if I’m supposed to kiss you in public. So, I’m kinda limiting myself here, because—“

“If you don’t shut up I won’t tell you just how much I love you.”

Bobbie stopped, and blinked. Several times.

“ _ Oh.  _ Well...yeah, well that makes this easier. Wow.”

Her twenty seven year old self was yelling at her to sort herself out, because  _ how _ was she going to be anything with Joanne if she said things like that?

Love was daunting, in every sense of the word. She’d pushed away the idea of settling down for so long, so why was it different now? Why was Joanne the outlier?

—

After a silence between them, Joanne snorted, and pulled Bobbie down into another deep kiss. Bobbie’s hand rested gently on her chest, and it was difficult not to smile against her lips. Joanne wouldn’t appreciate that when she tried to incorporate tongue.

Bobbie, being Bobbie, pulled back from the kiss and pushed Joanne’s hair from her face.

“So you love me? For clarification. Don’t feel like you  _ have  _ to say that.”

“Yes, I love you. If you tell anyone, Jamie specifically, I’ll wring your neck,” she grinned.

“Okay. Alright, good. Good.”

—

Bobbie had fallen asleep that night quite content, with Joanne’s arms around her. Her fingertips had traced the freckles on Bobbie’s arms, and she’d pressed her lips to her hairline like she was trying to stay connected to her in any way she could.

Joanne had murmured against her hair, but Bobbie wouldn’t embarrass her by letting her know she wasn’t sleeping. As far as

Joanne knew, she was dead to the world, and not aware of the compliments and confessions of adoration that came at two in the morning. 

————

It seemed they never had to make it official, given the fact it wasn’t long before people found out. How? Jamie.  _ Obviously _ . It also taught basically everyone around Bobbie that she should never be left alone with Jamie, specifically not with drink. 

It was an equal mix of surprise and horror. Larry took it well, but if Bobbie looked at him for too long, she was afraid she’d pass out from the guilt. It couldn’t be helped; they both loved each other dearly, and so why should an old relationship get in the way of that?

Between them, they’d shared days and nights of talking, and cooking, and arguing over the little things, and kissing, and screwing ( _ lots _ of screwing), and everything delightful that came with a partnership. 

They’d spent a good two years in each other’s company (only one in a ‘confirmed’ relationship) and Bobbie seemed to fall more in love with her as each day went by. It was sickening, really. 

So sickening that she’d asked poor Joanne to marry her and be the bane of her existence forevermore.

The best part being  _ Joanne actually agreed. _

————

Their wedding, however small it was, had been meticulously planned. Primarily because Joanne was a very fussy woman, and Bobbie wanted it to be perfect. If she was going to marry, she wanted it to be wonderful, and memorable, and she wanted to be close to her love.

Bobbie had wept, and Joanne had cried simply from the stress. Not that she knew that Bobbie knew. If she did, she’d have to find a way of erasing that memory. She really ought to have told her she was allowed to cry around her without it being the end of the world.

Even Larry had offered his support to them, along with a disgustingly expensive engagement gift. Still, it felt...awkward accepting that from the man who had been inside your fiancée more than once. 

————

_ February 23rd, 2021 _

The day was much more chaotic. Bobbie had wept the entire morning, with tissues under her eyes and the fear Joanne would suddenly decide it wasn’t for her at all. And Bobbie wasn’t a crier.

If Joanne had decided she didn’t want a marriage, or even a relationship, then Bobbie would die. She would drop down and die right there in front of a crowd, and she wouldn’t give a flying fuck.

—

However, Bobbie had forgotten that she was supposed to be cripplingly anxious the moment she set eyes on her lover in white. Something clicked, and it was the most breathtaking feeling. Marriage wasn’t for her, but marriage to  _ men _ was where the issue lied. She could marry Joanne a hundred times over and still never feel close enough to her. 

So, after stumbling through her vows and crying streaks in her makeup, she’d slid the ring onto Joanne’s finger and found that that very moment was the moment she realised she was exactly where she needed to be, with the person she should’ve been with all along.

Joanne pulled her brand new wife ( _ wife!)  _ into a kiss, which was  _ much _ more earth shattering and much more astronomically powerful than the first time they’d kissed. Bobbie didn’t even think she needed to breathe in that moment, but it seemed Joanne certainly did.

And she stared. With her wide brown eyes and a genuine, real smile. And it rocked Bobbie’s world like nothing had before.

That evening, Joanne had given her the most fantastic orgasm that left her grasping at the sheets. God, was that good. 

————

Bobbie would kiss Joanne’s ring at every opportunity, as some sort of symbol that she valued her each and every day. Joanne would scoff, and instead ask for a real kiss like a real and good wife would. Bobbie would only nudge her in the ribs.

Joanne was madly in love with her, and that was fact. She’d drunkenly spewed her deeper feelings to Bobbie on the couch of their apartment, and Bobbie had given her a dozy smile because it felt too good for words to hear that from Joanne. 

How they’d managed a marriage from eleven years of knowing each other was beyond Bobbie, but she was taught to never be so ungrateful. So she took what she had and held it nearer to her heart than most.

—

When they found themselves wrapped up in one another, after having been married for almost a year, Bobbie had a brief and very divine thought. She knew if she didn’t come out with it then, she never would.

Joanne was very accepting of most things. She treasured Bobbie privately, and was somewhat possessive in public. Her hand would settle nicely on her thigh in the bar, or would snake around her lithe waist at a party, or perhaps she’d take her hand under the table. It was the secret and subtle affection that made Bobbie’s heart beat against her ribcage. 

So why not?

“Joanne?”

She didn’t look up from her book, glasses set at the end of her nose.

“Yes, darling?” She replied, thought it sounded more like a statement.

“I want a child. Like—like a baby, I mean.”

_ That made her close her book for once _ .

Why she’d asked such a thing, she didn’t know. Bobbie was never greatly maternal, but after babysitting for years, she’d gotten a certain attachment to the idea. And if she could only find the right person...which she  _ did _ . So why not now? It wasn’t conforming if it was with a woman. A woman older than her, who’d been divorced thrice. 

“I see.”

—

After months of deliberation, they’d come to the most wonderful agreement, and their house wouldn’t be two lesbians and a cat (however dreamy that was). Bobbie had a plan — a vision, and she knew that it would work.

So when they settled on the idea, and Bobbie had welled up, and Joanne looked terrified but happier than she had in a while, things felt truly right. Complete, in a way.

She would have a family with the woman she’d adored since the very first bitter stare. It wasn’t what she’d planned by a long shot, but her life was so damn unexpected that she let it roll and hoped she didn’t get caught up in an undercurrent.

However, in that moment, when Joanne had held her face and promised her the world, Bobbie simply had to question what she’d done to deserve such a godsend of a life, and how it could be so fucking  _ perfect.  _

  
  


—————

  
  


One should never question how perfect something is. That is precisely the thought Bobbie has as she’s snapped from her reminiscent haze. Clearly, it couldn’t be  _ that _ perfect if she’s standing over her wife with a bouquet of flowers and a blurry little photo of what was supposed to be theirs that she was supposed to bring a month ago.

The wound is still open, and gaping, and burning. If she’s worked so long for something so perfect, why was that taken from her in less than a second? She refuses to accept that the world goes on turning when something so detrimental and sensitive and beautiful is robbed from it. How does she go on breathing if she no longer gets to anticipate the moments in which that breath is taken away by someone she adores?

The crying doesn’t end, and it doesn’t begin again, or pause. Maybe when it goes from tears to heaving into a pillow, she’ll realise that’s the end of that. How can somebody be the one to keep the world spinning around another person? Why is it that after so many birthdays on the earth, everything stops but she keeps on living?

Bobbie does not have the energy to crack a joke. There’s no room for an entertaining inner monologue. There are the same thoughts taking up too much fucking space.

—

She sets down the flowers, and the picture, and opens her mouth to speak. She almost speaks. She hasn’t for the two months in which she’s visited. It’s a matter of never seeming to have the words to say, even if she planned it all out in her head.

She knows that if she was there, Joanne would tell her to spit it out and quit snivelling like an infant. And she’d pull her in by the waist, and Bobbie would tell her to be careful, and Joanne would touch her stomach despite there being nothing much there. And Bobbie would laugh, and she’d tell her to leave her be. 

She can hear it, and she wants to turn around and see Joanne with her eyebrows raised in tragic amusement. But Bobbie knows if she turned and Joanne was standing there, she would run and she wouldn’t stop running until her legs gave out because letting go a second time would hurt so much more.

Still, she likes to think Joanne would be there to hold her, or kiss the back of her neck the way she did every morning, or even just  _ stare _ at her again. 

She is not there. She is in the ground, and Bobbie is bitter, and they are not going to get their family, even as Bobbie stands there four months along with what would’ve completed their bizarre family.

She misses Joanne’s eyes, and it’s her birthday in a month, and she’s starting to think their first encounter might just have been very beautiful indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! feedback is greatly appreciated! .... and i am so sorry for that.


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